


falling//fading

by wolf antlers (space_adventures)



Series: Halloween Collection 2020 [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Religious Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:40:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27078973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/space_adventures/pseuds/wolf%20antlers
Summary: No one hates Tom Riddle more than Tom Riddle hates himself.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Series: Halloween Collection 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1973395
Comments: 2
Kudos: 47





	falling//fading

**Author's Note:**

> Day 3!
> 
> **Prompts:** decay, vulnerability
> 
> Beta'ed by Raven, as always.
> 
> Thanks to my enablers ~~writing wouldn't be as fun without you all~~.

No one hates Tom Riddle more than Tom Riddle hates himself. He’s not how one would expect self-loathing to manifest — he’s far too kind and caring. Inside though, hiding in his fragile, aching ribs, is a bone-deep hatred and with it comes rage, embarrassment and _guilt_.

His guilt sticks to his skin and courses through his veins, wholly a part of him. And he hates it. Guilt for being born, for not being like everyone else. The Orphanage was strictly Christian, and though he knows, logically, that the Bible stories must’ve been about magic, he can’t help but remember his nights curled up in his ragged blanket, fingers shaking as he asked for forgiveness in the dingy darkness of the attic after another magical outburst.

It’s guilt that leads him into Harry’s bed every night, and maybe love, if he could feel it at all. _If it wasn’t immoral_. Harry’s _truly_ kind, caring hands brush his hair off his forehead and his kisses linger in unseen bruises marring Tom’s skin. And when Harry whispers, “Tom, _Tom_ ,” under his breath as Tom presses his fingers into his hips and his cock into his body, he wonders and marvels at the wonderful boy who _cares_ about him as no one else has.

It aches in a different way, one much nicer than his usual. This ache guides him tonight.

“I want you instead,” he whispers into the quiet, patient darkness of the room. “Please.”

Harry is silent and then his hands move, cradling Tom’s jaw as he says, “Yes, yes, of course.” His lips press delicately against Tom’s cheek, and then down to his mouth. They don’t use tongue, but it feels as intimate as a French kiss.

It’s then Tom knows he’s not giving up something to the wrong person. He’s not lending out misplaced trust.

Harry’s fingers flit over his skin and his lips follow until he’s gasping, much like how Harry does under him. He bites the pillow as Harry opens him up, bruising his thigh with his lips and endearing words. He clings to Harry’s arms as he enters him, and kisses him with all he was, is, and will be. Harry’s mouth is like divinity finally answering his wretched prayers.

Afterwards, when he’s in a haze and his limbs are heavy, Harry grabs him a spare pair of pyjama pants and holds him tight.

“Why?” he asks, not expecting a response.

“Because you deserve the world,” Harry answers like he should’ve known.

Even if his skin feels like it’s falling apart and his body is decaying, he has Harry, until he becomes one with the leaves and mud, and worms and flies use his corpse as a home.


End file.
